Trashed and Scattered

In just two days, Jules arrives! I still have a bagillion things to clean in our apartment. Add to that all the things I have to do at work (I’ve booked myself a hectic schedule, and am working serious overtime so that I can earn a comp day to take Monday off when Jules’ here).

Because of that, I worked until 9:15 last night. Okay, yeah, I took a margarita break with another coworker around 7PM, BUT STILL.

On my way home, stuck in traffic (what the hell, Seattle?), I called Nickolas, who was roasting in his office in our “heat wave.” He proposed inflating his new raft and giving it a whirl on the lake. I looked at the clock. “I should come home and go to bed…but…give me 5 minutes.” I drove the rest of the way home thinking I would call him back and tell him I would prefer to behave like a sane person.

Instead I bolted into the apartment, threw on my bathing suit, t-shirt, and beach skirt, and flew back out the door after giving Dearborn a quick pat on the head. We walked down to the end of our street, inflated the raft, and shoved off into the dark water.

I came home at midnight, having spent an hour or so quietly floating under the stars, alongside the houseboats, staring inside the lit ones and making up stories about (or just plain making fun of) the people inside.  Among uhm, other things.  hehe

As tired as I was when I got back, being able to just chill out, laugh, and stare at Seattle’s nighttime skyline was the best cure ever for a long, drawn-out day.

Depending on how late I work tonight, we might just have to drag the raft out again. I love my neighborhood.  And my hot British boyfriend.

I had the best texts all lined up for you guys.. Only, yeah. I’m an idiot.  I wasn’t planning to explain how this happened, but in the interest of not repeating to every commenter (like there are any of those these days!) how I managed to be such a flaming moron: first I got the phone all kinds of wet in the river while rafting (not this phone’s first encounter with moisture, I should add)…second, while trying to air out my wet phone, I gleefully flung it out the window of a fast-moving vehicle.

Trying to see the silver lining: I have always hated this phone.

 So….a full weekend by all accounts. Brace yerselves, here comes the recap!

Friday night, I was turning down social activities, knowing full well that I’d be waking up at 7am to spend a day on the Yakima river. Okay, so I agreed to a post-work glass of tinto at a posh-ish wine bar near work. Which turned into two glasses, and the decision to soldier on with the social activities. Dinner and more drinks (holy cheap, that Palomino!) were had with a bunch of strange-to-me-folk who, despite my friend’s apologies at their juvenile antics, were so unSeattlelike as to be a (sort of) breath of fresh air.

Saturday was spent recovering from all that tequila and wine, exposing my paler than pale skin to sunlight, drinking, paddling, drinking, falling into ice-cold water, breaking phones, and trying to stay awake enough for the drive home. As my friend pointed out, I had to watch a movie with him, as all my other options for the night depended on the ability to call/text people, which…yeah. I slept on a couch through half of Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, which is no big loss since I can pretty much quote that movie word for word, then stumbled home for more sleeping.

Sunday was spent looking for a replacement phone (Verizon, incidentally, makes you pay full retail if you break your phone before your contract is up. A comparable replacement to my Evil Razr would cost me between $300 and $400. Thank you, no, I will not bend over.) I did a little grocery shopping while waiting for Cingular AT&T to open, since taking the hit for breaking my Verizon contract + free AT&T phone = cheaper than new Verizon phone, but no go there either, since you can’t keep your out of state phone number that way. Ridiculous.

I returned home, ate a whole bunch of green tea mochi ice cream, shopped online for new phones and was thwarted (”I’m sorry, we can’t port your number at this time. Please call XXX…” but that’s not very helpful when you DON’T HAVE A PHONE). So I calmed myself, had some more ice cream, spiffed up and headed downtown to complete my tour of all the Tom Douglas restaurants in Seattle by dining at Serious Pie. YUM.

After which our crowd moseyed on over to the Moore theater, to watch a fantastic Grizzly Bear and a sublime Feist rock the house. The show would have been perfection, if not for the woman sitting directly behind my friend, punctuating every song with at least fifteen “YYYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”s and then filling in the rest of the space with loud, drunken commentary on just how much she was enjoying the show. I swapped seats with my poor friend to give her ears some rest, and when my fury boiled over, I turned around, intent on asking the woman to politely turn it down a smidge, but instead I opened my mouth and said something that would need to be bleeped out every other word. Taken aback, she began to apologize, stopped, changed strategies, and decided she’d be even more obnoxious, yelling back in my face until people calmed us both down. Granted, she reduced her yelling to more appropriate moments in the show, and I felt better just having expressed my displeasure, but she then decided that I needed to be kicked in the shoulder and arm as much as possible.

I’m fairly easy-going and passive-aggressive by nature, content to give someone stink-eye and leave it at that. Still, at that moment, I could really truly imagine just how nice it would feel to actually punch someone in the face. I swung around in my seat, ready to go for it, but her friend gave me a gentle push back, hushed and restrained her friend, and I settled for some more cursing at the bunch of them.

Someone later tapped my friend on her shoulder and showed her a text message (salt, wound) that read “Don’t worry, we think they’re assholes too,” sent from another audience member. Others also expressed their extreme displeasure. Still, excellent show, and I didn’t even come close to physical violence. Which I don’t think I could have handled anyway.

New phone is ordered, and now I just have to suck it up and deal with a week of no texting. My boss did let me borrow the company Sidekick, though, so there’s that.

Nick: Bryan Adams’ “Heaven” just shuffled onto my iPod.
Nick: I somehow blame you.
PWT: HAHAHA!
PWT: Did I ever tell you that I really, really liked Bryan Adams as a pre-teen?
Nick: I just assumed.
Nick: The next song was “Backdrifting” by Radiohead, thank Christ.

Yesterday after work, with no plans in the works - Nick is in London on business, I dropped by a friend’s place to watch a scary movie. I warned him that I don’t handle them well, which he brushed off. The movie, a straight to video deal (I don’t remember the name, how pathetic am I?), made me scream and curl up into a ball on the couch every 5-10 minutes, and made him roll his eyes approximately the same amount of times.

After the movie I was amped up, and just about to walk home and try not to pee myself on the way back, when my phone rang. My friend and his friend were having a drink and a bite to eat at the restaurant on my block, and did I want to join? Sounded better than a dark apartment to me, and I never say no to this place…it’s a charming, upscale Italian joint, but laid back enough to show up at whenever the mood strikes. I dragged along my very tired movie compatriot, and we had a few drinks and munchables. To my disappointment, it was Fedora Bartender’s night. He tends to ignore me, and act a little haughty whenever I even look the least bit cheery. Still, we took a table after one drink, so I dealt with him less than usual. I think I got home around 11:30?

I had trouble sleeping, and around 1AM, had to get up, annoyed, and pull my shades all the way down because police lights kept flashing in my windows. This isn’t terribly uncommon in my neighborhood, although it’s never a dangerous situation…see, we have this weird project housing for chronic alcoholics a few blocks away…it’s basically a place to get people off the streets into a place where they can die quietly. Awful, but I’ve very rarely seen any of the tenants, and the ones I have seen are usually very nice and very sad. It breaks my heart. So the ambulances, they’re not so uncommon.

Turns out the flashing police lights? Were because Fedora Bartender was shot resisting a robbery attempt on my favorite little neighborhood restaurant, about an hour and a half after two of the boys walked me home.

I’m glad I gave Fedora Bartender a bigger tip than I usually do, for actually paying attention to me for once. I feel slightly less guilty for making fun of him just hours before he got shot.

Is it me, or did the whole non-geeky Internet suddenly discover lolcats? You people need to hang out in uber-nerd, can’t get laid because I’m 14 and haven’t seen the sun in years forums more often. (Nickolas has been out of town for three straight weeks!).

In non-nerd news, Las Vegas may be one of my favorite places ever. Why? A) No one looks at you askance if you start drinking when you wake up. These are my peeps. B) Food is available at all kinds of weird hours. C) You are not required to ever see the blazing hot sun, not once (also, refer to previous paragraph).

I didn’t sleep very much, partly because I’m a bad sleeper, mostly because my friend likes to make out with random boys and I had to play wing-woman/fend off roomfuls of boys who WEREN’T making out with anyone but would like to. I wish I could sleep with one eye open. I saw a PlayBoy playmate and got her autograph for my coworker (admit it, you watch the Girls Next Door, too), who screamed during a meeting when I told her about it. Someone stepped on my toe so hard that my nail now has a huge buckling bubble under it, and I’m still complaining about how it hurts to walk. Add to that the fact that I walked at least seven miles in 3-inch heels, and we have ourselves some very pissed off feet. I saw the Beatles/Cirque du Soleil show, I saw some very cool hotels, got a little sunburnt by the pool, skanked it up in dresses and short skirts and low-cut tops (so low that at the morning buffet, after spending the night on a couch while my friend cuddled [I slept on a couch for cuddling??] with some man, I’m pretty sure I got many “what a ho-bag” looks from the fanny-pack set chowing down on their crab legs), won $50 on the nickel slots, and generally had a great time.

I decided not to sleep at all on Saturday night, because we rolled in at 6am and I had to be at the airport by 8am, which was probably a bad idea. I went from the airport in Seattle straight back out drinking (four vodka Red Bulls and a couple shots), which f’ed up my friends and just seemed to make me slightly less sleepy, and saw a great Peter Bjorn and John show.

I’m still recovering. My toe hurts.

I spent entirely too much time watching TiVo this weekend…I caught up on Heroes, Grey’s Anatomy, and LOST. I’d missed a ton of each, too, so there was a LOT of TiVo’ing going on.

I also dragged my butt off the couch, showered, sliced two toes open, and Nickolas and I  had dinner with Dave and Corrine, hemorrhaging toes be damned. Where we ate loads, talked lots, and laughed tons. We need to hang with those homies more often.

Later I swung downtown to have a drink or two at the Nightlite with a friend who was also providing me with a ticket to the Blonde Redhead show. Thumbs up on the show. I didn’t even stain my cute froggy shoes with blood, with all the standing and hopping and trying to see around the sudden influx of tall people.  Taller than me, no less.  I am already 5 foot eleven. Tall people in Seattle, what gives? I guess something about tallness and Blonde Redhead goes together well, huh?

Sunday was filled with shopping errands…a simple trip to Target led to Trader Joe’s, which led to the liquor store (Capitol Hill Liquor Store, I heart you for being open on Sundays), which led to the QFC, and finally to home where I resolved not to buy anything ever again.

Only I just bought a Roomba online. All that duct tape weaving this morning must have rotted my brain (I made the ugliest belt ever for a proposal…what, ten year olds are supposed to make it!). My cat better love that shit.

Hey kids.  It seems like forever since I have had a post of any substance on here, so lets continue the tradition, shall we?  I’ve not been keeping the closest finger on the pulse of the celebrity world lately, but there are a few things I would like to bitch about today, so here goes:

1. What the fuck is up with Britney Spears?  I mean, really.  Spending Easter courtside at a Laker game instead of home with her kids?  And dont even get me started on the state of her hair - or lack thereof.  Really, can someone please tell me - for a woman with loads and loads of money and any celebrity stylist at her disposal - why in the name of everything holy, Britney cannot find a wig that looks real?  I grew up with a mom that wore wigs, and seriously?  I never would have mistaken my mother for a My Little Pony or a drag queen. Honestly.  I have even been listening to her CDs lately in a deluded attempt to channel the comeback of the Brit I thought I knew and loved, but, unfortunately, I think her day in the sun has passed.  Much as I hate to admit it.  Dammit.  I just want to slap the shit out of her.

2.  Larry Birkhead is the father.  I ask you: Who the fuck cares?  Seriously.  Duh.

3.  Donald Imus:  Everyone is racsist.  Even if just a little.  Get over it, people.  You honestly think there is one black man or mexican in the world that hasnt thought of all us white people as dumb crackers?  You think there is one Asian in America or anywhere else for that matter that isnt pissed because there arent more mainstream Asian singers, actresses, whatever?  Get. Over. It.  We are all racsist to a point.  Most of us just arent honest enough to admit it. 

I was going to give you an update on my trip to Utah and all the fun I had, but it’s too much effort to encapsulate so many things in a brief post. So while I collect my thoughts, snippets from work emails I’ve written today:

Easy! Marry rich. I’m still working on that one.
People expecting me to, you know, work. How rude of them.
It’s not impossible, it’s just mildly illegal. Here’s how:
We should do an extended happy hour or something.
A sofa is a fancy couch.
I had lots of fish food in my purse, not fun.
Life without me DOES suck, doesn’t it?

Tada! I am boring.

About a month ago, I ran out of birth control pills. About two months ago, strapped for cash, I decided to let my prescription lapse…I could either eat, or I could get pills. A) I need food, and B) I’m getting laid so infrequently that this is not a huge issue. There are these fancy things called condoms, what a brilliant idea!

Except I’ve been on the pill fairly regularly since I was 17. I turn 29 in some months. I also take (took) some strong-ass pills, and I took them pretty much year round (I had three or four periods a year).

I’d forgotten what life un-hormoned is like. First of all, if you had contact with me last week and I acted like a drooling idiot, it’s because I was missing half the blood in my body. But what really hit me the hardest was the emotions. Friday night I flaked on plans I’d made, stayed in, downed a bottle of wine, read a book, and felt generally cool with life.

Saturday morning I woke up sobbing, and did not get out of bed until 4PM (okay, I did get up to pee). FOUR PEE EM. At which point I had a small freakout and had to get out of the house just to smoke and drive around aimlessly. On my way back to my apartment, dreading more crying and more bed, I texted a Corrine. Five minutes later I was tromping over to her place, where marathon movie viewing ensued.

Sunday I woke up to another text, proposing more movies and grease covered food. Oh, and I took a trip to the used bookstore on the way.

Am feeling marginally better now, with a belly full of grease and a few more movies under my belt. Might pick up strong-ass pill prescription this afternoon.

I have so many posts in my head, and yet by the time I can sit down to write, it’s the very last thing I want to do. Not sure what this means for Trashed and Scattered.

My trip to Utah was pha-bulous, even though I landed in 74 degree weather and took off in 40 degree weather, with some snow and ice in the middle there. I got to see a lot of my friend, plus hang with a few other highly entertaining folk, AND my other best friend decided to drive the four hours, just to see me. Aw. Plus a last minute breakfast with another one of my friends, who I hadn’t seen in years. Good times, busy times.

My sinus infection faded while I was home, but now it’s back with a vengeance. The odd thing? It seems to worsen every time I hang out with one of my coworkers…he just moved in down the block from me (literally, down my block), and has discovered my weakness: inability to turn down drinking on weeknights. I would blame it on the drinking, but guess what I did in Utah? Yeah. Drink. So I must be allergic to him - my coworker/friend.

And My Nicky is back in town this week for three whole weeks! I am so excited I want to pee. Shit. Now I really do have to pee. Ta ta!